Interlude
by PetiteOdainath
Summary: A Ros Fic collaboration between Odainath and PetiteEtoile22. Ros finds that being dead is a lot harder than it seems.


**Interlude**

_by: Petite Odainath_

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**Author's notes: **This is a collaboration between myself and Petite Etoile. She will be doing the odd number chapters whilst I will write the even number chapters.

Enjoy and please review!

**Disclaimer: **Neither of us own 'Spooks' though we'd dearly like to.

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**Chapter 1**

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The church service is spectacular, he has to give them credit for that. For a dead traitor, they sure are giving Ros Myers a good send-off. Bob Hogan takes a seat in the back pew of the modest chapel, and observes. He studies every single stoic expression of every single member of Section D. They all tell him one thing; Rosalind Myers is dead and gone. All but one that is. Adam Carter's usually emotive face remains impassive, and that is all Hogan needs ti know. He smiles slightly to himself from behind his service sheet; his day has just gotten exceedingly better. Rosalind Myers isn't dead at all, and that's the best news he's heard since this whole Yalta debacle began. The CIA want her dead, and he knows the Redbacks will want her very much alive; thanks to Section D, he can please them both and clearly pave his way into an early golden retirement at the same time. He's read all about Miss Myers and is certain that she is worth a blank cheque.

The wry smile remains on his face and it doesn't falter, even when he can feel their cold stares piercing his spine. 'Keep your eyes on the prize,' his mother repeatedly told him throughout his childhood. Bob Hogan doesn't intend to ever lose sight of this prize. Hogan softly closes the chapel doors behind him, and strides purposefully toward Adam, who is leaning over her coffin.

"I'm sorry, but you understand." He doesn't even pause before unfastening the lid of her coffin screw by screw; he feels just like a kid at christmas. It's strange but she looks peaceful, almost happy to be lying there amongst the white silk sheets. If she weren't worth so much to him, he might even wish her dead. His fingers press into the cool flesh of her neck, waiting for the pulse that is sure to come.

"I don't care what she did. You could at least allow her some dignity."

Bob Hogan thinks that in a few days time, Ros will beg for this kind of 'indignity'. "Look, for what it's worth-"

"I said, she's dead. Whatever you say about her now, it means nothing."

It's only when he exits the church and turns his back on Harry Pearce that he allows himself a wry grin. As distant and sporadic as it was, he felt it; Ros Myers was alive. She was alive and the possibilities were endless; after all, no one goes looking for a corpse, yet they yield the most information of all.

xXXXx

The last thing Ros Myers remembered before waking up in a coffin, was an intense pain coursing through her veins and Harry telling her not to be afraid. But there was something else before that, which had shaken her slightly; she has said sorry, and she never apologised. She had been dying then. She was supposed to be dead now. A mixture of dry-heaves and sobs emit from her mouth and she only calms when Adam rocks her back and forth, whispering softly in her ear.

"You're alright now, Ros. You're safe." he murmurs, helping her from the coffin.

"I'm supposed to be dead."

"You are dead. The Americans won't ask questions, so you're dead. In this bag is a change of clothes, some money, and a passport. You leave; you leave and you don't look back."

Ros clings to his hand for some unfathomable reason. Despite being perched on her own coffin, she feels safe beneath his touch.

"If I went with you, they'd know and they'd come after you. I can't let that happen. We don't have time for this," he whispers, voice breaking, "there's never enough time, is there?"

"Not for us, no." Ros can barely contain her surprise and disappointment at this outburst. She gently cups his face in her hands, and wipes away a stray tear. "Don't go missing my funeral."

She allows herself one last sob, as from her vantage point she watches them take 'Ros' away. As soon as the chapel doors swing shut, logic kicks in with an almighty force. She has to get out of the country and fast. Ros runs through a list of possible destinations, only to find that they are all tainted by her association with the service. The tiny world map Adam gave her is a mass of black crosses in a matter of mere moments. Ros strides with purpose through the cemetery, cursing the bright red bag Adam provided her with. If she wanted any chance of getting out alive that bag would have to go, even if it was her favourite colour. She weaves her way through the backstreets of London, observing Moscow protocol as she goes. Ros would never label herself as sentimental, but a part of her can't help but find it strange that what was once her 'home', is now the land of her enemy. She heads into a bag emporium and quickly moves the contents of her bag into a charcoal holdall. She feels no guilt; perhaps that's because she's now dead, or perhaps it's the fact that the bag she's just given them is worth ten times the sack she currently has in her hands. Ros finds a brief respite in a disused car park. The CCTV has been smashed to pieces, or vandalised in some equally destructive way. She finds the darkest corner of the concrete labyrinth, and makes herself as comfortable as possible. She decides that she will wait; she will find herself a 'suitable' destination, and when it gets dark, she will continue her journey. The most important thing is that she's safe. 'For now,' the little voice in her head adds most unhelpfully.

xXXXx

Harry Pearce sits in his office, staring at Adam. The half-empty decanter of scotch went unnoticed by the two men. Harry is waiting; he is waiting to be told something he already knows, but needs to hear.

"She's alive." Adam whispers, grief present in his eyes. "Malcolm-"

"Knows. I gathered that already. Who else knows?"

"Jo spotted her amongst the graves, but she didn't give anything away."

"Good. I'll brief Connie. If we're to get through this investigation - because there will be an investigation - we all need to be on the same page."

"When will you do it?"

"Now. Send her in when you leave."

Connie sits across form Harry on the sofa, exuding the same confident air that always surrounds her. She sips at her scotch and waits patiently for him to begin. Whatever he has to tell her must be good, because all she can read in his features is grave concern.

"Ros Myers is alive."

That was not a story she expecting. Connie leans forward in her seat, interest piqued.

"So what are we going to do?"

"We lie. Ros Myers was murdered by Yalta. We buried her this afternoon. It doesn't matter whether or not she's in that coffin; she's dead."

Connie nods her head pensively. "You're right. Best to keep what's dead and buried, dead and buried. I'll see you tomorrow, Harry."

"Goodnight, Connie." Harry sighs. Juliet's betrayal had been a great blow to him. He didn't know who was his enemy anymore; he's just grateful that he knows his friends. Harry pulls the glass door of his office and exits the Grid, closing his eyes as the pods hiss shut around him. He will take each day as it comes; just as he always has done, and just as he always will. It's what Ruth sacrificed herself for; him to keep on 'fighting the good fight'. It's what they 'buried' Ros for. He sits in peaceful silence throughout his drive home, his thoughts becoming clearer in his head. It will be fine. His team will get through this. They always do. And Ros is alive; so Harry can't explain why whenever he closes his eyes, he sees her lying dead before him. He shakes his head softly as he opens the door to his house. Ros Myers (his once protege) is alive and safe. 'For now,' the little voice in his head adds unhelpfully.

xXXXx

Bob Hogan places the receiver back on the handset and allows himself a small smile. The power of Rumour is a magnificent thing indeed. In the space of a couple of hours, he had been made several _substantial _offers for the contents of Miss Myers's little head. Juliet Shaw had been one of the first to get in contact with him. It wasn't surprising; despite everything, they still needed her information, and the element of personal vengeance must be a nice little bonus too. Unfortunately, Juliet had been severely outbid, and rounded up by some of his more legitimate friends before she had the chance to increase her offer. Hogan knows his client well this time; despite their ever-changing name, Bob Hogan is pretty damn sure that the Russians have just won Myers. All he has to do now is find her, and break her. He leans back into the plush leather chair, allowing various names to run through his mind at an alarming rate. He would need a connisseur for this job. His _client _would want their little fountain of knowledge to last for months, not days. Rosalind has knowledge of her father's dealings as well as the Service's; she would've done her research after his conviction, she'll know about the turf wars and about Gas Stream. And even if she doesn't, she'll find something to give them. Rosalind Myers is resourceful like that. Bob's mind finally hones in on a face; Alexander Miranov. Hogan knows he's the best in his profession, God knows how many times the Redbacks have tried to recruit him. Bob dials his number with fervour; if anyone can break that bitch, it's Miranov.

Hogan can feel the power oozing from the man seated opposite. He isn't overly tall nor stocky, but each movement shows off the definition of his muscles. Alexander Miranov doesn't care about size; he finds that an excellent ability to maim and kill, a more effective deterrent. Alexander picks an imaginary piece of fluff from his jacket lapel, and stares at Hogan.

"To what pleasure do I owe this visit? And before you ask, the answer is no. I much prefer my freelance work, more 'artistic' freedom."

Hogan says nothing, choosing instead to slide a picture of Ros across the desk.

Alexander gives a nostalgic smile. "Ah, Rozalina..."

"You know her then?"

"I was her baptism of fire. I regret to say that I sorely underestimated her."

"In what way?"

The lithe man leans forwards. "I left her under the guard of a fool who thought it was a free for all."

Bob can clearly see the venom in his eyes. "What happened?"

"The bastard thought he could help himself to the fruits of my labour. He was so eager that he left himself wide open," he smiles cruelly at the memory. "She broke his neck, then caved his head in with his own gun; didn't even waste a bullet on him."

"Why'd she do that?"

"I assume the position she found herself in, was most convienent. Besides, it was her first kill; one has to find a way to ensure someone is really dead, no?"

"And where the hell were you?" Bob exclaims.

"Out of town. I assumed she was just like any other lilywhite; I was wrong."

It is Hogan's turn to smile cruelly now. "How would you like a second chance Alexander?"

"I don't work for you."

"Freelance. The job's too expensive to leave to just anyone. It has to be done _properly_."

"It's a long term project; it could be m-"

"My client is fully aware of the difficulties surrounding their purchase."

"Do you have her file?"

Bob hands the thick manilla folder over to Miranov to devour. "What are you looking for?"

"Her next move; it's obvious you haven't found her yet. Whether they want to or not, the dead always return home."

"England's too dangerous for her to stay in right now. It would be suicide."

"My friend, who said anything about England?"

xXXXx

Ros hurries out of the car park with her head down, and her hood covering as much of her face as is possible. Her eyes dart from side to side, examining each car as she passes; age, model, make, immobiliser. She needs to get to Heathrow; it's the biggest airport and the chaos of Terminal 5 is an opportune location for her to hide, and car is the safest (and easiest) mode of transport for now. Ros is grateful to be in one of the shittier parts of London; it means no one will really notice when she finally manages to move onto the next phase of her plan. The night sky is clear and pitch black. It makes her feel uneasy; a childhood fear coming back to haunt her. Before she can dwell on such 'issues', an object catches her eye.

"Bingo." Ros breathes, smiling softly to herself. She fishes out her lock picking kit and sets to work on acquiring some wheels. The car is small and old, and not nearly as bullet proof as she would like, but it has half a tank of petrol and will probably get her from A to B. She is slightly out of practice with the hot-wiring and it takes her a few minutes longer than she would've liked to get the engine running. Ros can't help but roll her eyes at the fluffy dice hanging from the rear-view mirror, before duly consigning them to the back seat. She drives in silence, double-backing on herself several times in a bid to shake the immoveable fear that she is being followed. She sardonically wonders if all dead people are as paranoid as her, or just dead spies-cum-traitors. Ros rolls down the window, letting the cool night air assault her face. Her fingers drum a random beat on the steering wheel as a thousand thoughts skitter about her head. For the first time since she can remember, Ros Myers feels nervous, not on edge, nervous. Then again, revisiting your childhood can have that effect on you. She quickly dials an airline number before she can change her mind and waits for someone to pick up.

"Hello? I want the next flight out of Heathrow please."

She ditches the car just outside of the airport, holding the firm belief that dead people shouldn't pay for airport parking. Ros hastily pulls a few strands of her blonde locks from their bun, masking her face further, as she enters the terminal. Her trained eye can't help but notice the hundreds of visible (and invisible) CCTV cameras dotted around the place; she's in the lion's den now. She checks-in at the last minute, still using all the training from her previous life, and smiles at the _inquisitive _girl on the desk.

"So, you're going on holiday alone then?" 'Mandy' comments, looking her up and down.

"Funeral, actually. My twin sister just died of an overdose." Ros gives sad smile to mask the cruel one that is forming at the thought of the girl's reaction if she knew the truth. Ros silently takes the tickets, and heads towards the area leading to gate 18 as she had been instructed with a pitying smile. It is only now when she is past security, that Ros stops looking behind her every second step, choosing to look at every third one instead. She thinks that they would've picked her up by now if they really wanted to. After all, they've got plenty of inconspicuous opportunities in a place like this. Ros spends the time before she has to board, wandering round the airport buying various souvenirs and cosmetics. She buys a second outfit from some boutique outlet and slips into the Ladies' to change. When she emerges, she is a different person; seemingly altered with her dowdy clothes and introverted stance. No one notices her now; for some strange reason, that fact brings more apprehension than comfort. She exhales a small sigh of relief when they call her plane to board. No one should think to look for her here, and by the time they do, they won't be able to find her. Buenos Aires is her home because it was where she was happiest; she could be herself. She wonders if the team would laugh if they found out that she used be the odd one out, that she was the weak link in her family chain. Her father's incarceration by her own hand might be an adequate clue. Ros shakes these thoughts from her head as she finds her seat. The woman who felt that isolation, and did those deeds is dead. Ros closes her eyes and finds that even though she is ten thousand feet in the air, and is as safe as she can possibly be at this moment in time; sleep still eludes her.

xXXXx

Alexander smiles before rising to leave, and Hogan can't help but be reminded of a predator who has just caught sight of their prey. He finds it only mildly disconcerting that Alex hasn't mentioned fees or percentage cuts yet. He supposes that capturing Ros Myers will be payment enough for now, and Hogan is no fool; he knows what Alexander Miranov is capable of doing to those who try to sell him short. The barely compassionate part of Bob hopes that Ros Myers will not fight; with a man like Miranov, fighting only makes the pain last longer.

"So where is she?"

"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

"Fine. But what's your plan? You don't intend to send your men on a wild goose chase, do you? Miss Myers graduated from the top of her class in counter-surveillance."

"It was noted in the file. Besides, Alexander Miranov does not 'chase' women, he merely waits."

"Pardon?" Hogan scoffs, lip curled in amusement.

"I know where she is, better than that, I know where she's going to be."

"And where is that?"

"Like I said, 'I don't want to spoil the surprise'."

The door closes behind Miranov with a faint 'click'. Alexander hurries down the steps and swoops into his car. The driver starts the engine and pulls off without a word; he knows that Mr Miranov will give him his orders when he is ready.

"Pyotr, take me to Heathrow."

"Yes, sir."

Alex gets out Ros's file again, along with his laptop, and sets to work finding Miss Myers. It does not matter if he doesn't catch her in England, as long as he remains one step ahead. Dear little Rozalina was raised in Buenos Aires; that is her home, and that is where she is headed. He knows that she would like to think herself unique, but this time she is among the thousands who try to 'find themselves' after a near-death experience whether they want to, or not. She will fly out of Heathrow, that much he is certain of; it is the biggest airport in London and one of the closest. He will follow her route out of the country as close as possible; the sooner he can pick her up, the longer he can spend with her, and the better that will be for all concerned. They pull onto the M4, and only then does he allow himself another slight smile; this time at the thought of how she will look when he's through with her. He catches sight of a plane flying overhead and his smile widens into a predatory grin; he doesn't know for sure if it is her plane but he knows one thing for certain, he has her scent.

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_**Hope you enjoyed!**_


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